“Dad!” I groan as everyone else roars with laughter.
“What? It's poetic!”
Lily appears with a bottle of champagne, already popping the cork. “I knew it! Pay up, Christian!”
Christian grumbles, pulling out his wallet. “Couldn't have waited 'til next month, bro?”
“You bet on when I'd propose?” I ask, incredulous.
“'Course we did,” Lily confirms, handing Mia a glass of champagne. “I had faith you'd get your shit together before Christmas.
I catch Lily’s eye, and she gives me a slight nod—the signal.
Lily sets the champagne down and claps her hands. “Alright! Drinks in hand? Good. Nobody move. I just need to… check on something real quick.”
Mia raises a brow. “What now?”
“The ducks,” Lily says, way too fast.
I damn near choke on my drink.
Mason doesn’t even look up from his glass. “We don’t have ducks.”
“Wemighthave ducks,” Lily says with an unconvincing shrug as she backs toward the door. “Depends on how loose the neighbor’s fence is. You know.” She waves her hand through the air in a lazy loop, like she’s sprinkling magic over her nonsense. “Rural life an’ all.”
“I’m your neighbor.” Mason deadpans.
Lily spins on her heel and points at him with a smirk. “Then congrats, Mason. You’re officially a duck dad. You’ve got that whole disapproving poultry energy down already.”
She’s out the door before anyone can stop her, flannel whipping behind her like a cartoon getaway.
I just shake my head, biting back a laugh as the room settles into a hum of congratulations and teasing.
Mia leans into my side, her hand resting on my chest—and damn if the sight of that ring on her finger doesn’t make my throat feel too tight to speak.
As the family swirls around us, opening more bottles, making increasingly inappropriate toasts, I pull Mia close.
“Sure you want to sign up for a lifetime of this?” I murmur against her hair.
She looks up at me, those ocean blue eyes that first captivated me in a store aisle, now filled with a love I still can't believe is mine.
“A lifetime doesn't seem nearly long enough,” she says, and kisses me as Dad launches into yet another toast comparing marriage to breaking in a stubborn bull.
Perfect disaster, indeed.
Epilogue
Mia
The tires crunch over the gravel as we pull up to the ranch house—our house. The porch light spills a soft amber glow across the weathered boards and swaying swing, like the whole place is holding its breath. The air is thick with that delicious kind of tension that clings to your skin and settles low in your belly.
The last of the sun melts behind the trees, turning the sky into streaks of gold and pink that look straight out of a romance movie… the kind that ends with very little clothing.
Grant kills the engine, unbuckles with a slow, deliberate movement that already sets my pulse ticking like a metronome in overdrive, and then he’s out, circling around the truck with that easy, long-legged stride of his.
He swings my door open with a crooked grin and holds out a hand. “Evenin’, darlin’.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re such a gentleman.”
